


English Only

by AnotherAnon0



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, ESL Lessons, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Language Kink, Light Dom/sub, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, M/M, Military Uniforms, One Shot, Shameless Smut, Soviet Union, Spanking, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:22:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24342691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/pseuds/AnotherAnon0
Summary: Young Nicholai's English is not up to par. He is told to go for lessons with his Colonel. No Russian allowed.A fluffy, smutty one-shot.
Relationships: Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Sergei Vladimir
Comments: 19
Kudos: 19





	English Only

**Author's Note:**

> All translations will be available at the end!

**_Moscow, 1981_ **

The small classroom smelled of chalk and the familiar, chemical-composed floral bouquet of floor disinfectant. Nicholai's blue eyes scanned the white walls for what felt like the hundredth time, taking in the piss-poor finger paintings hanging sporadically along them by tacks and tape, children's scrawling names messily affixed to the corner of each square canvas. Furrowing his brow, he re-directed his attention to the front of the room, where a large photo of Stalin leered at him from over the wide, green blackboard -- one that was being attended to by a familiar figure. 

Colonel Sergei Vladimir had his back to him, a book in one arm and a piece of chalk in the other, and was marking the board with delicate foreign characters. The click of the chalk on the surface filled the otherwise silent room, paralleling the soft snapping of the clock on the wall. Tiny puffs of white dust wisped up from every scratch made on the board, dissipating into nothingness rapidly. 

Nicholai crossed his arms, wiggling uncomfortably in the solid wooden chair that felt far too small to accommodate him. The fixed-desk floating above his thighs was awkwardly close, and he could feel the edge press into his belly slightly with every breath and huff. 

The military had rented out the local school's gymnasium for evening English lessons for the staff and soldiers who had been deemed "insufficient" in their skills. Nicholai, however, was unable to attend due to his scheduled shift guarding Lenin's mausoleum in the Red Square, and the school had to clean the gym of the makeshift desks and chairs for the next day's activities. 

Needing a later lesson than the rest of the attendees, the school had placed him in an empty third-year classroom. Colonel Vladimir, his long-time superior, had volunteered to offer him the night school when the English tutor was unable to stay behind, taking the binder of ESL plans from the tutor and formulating a quick lesson from its contents.

" _Eto glupo_." Nicholai muttered under his breath, pursing his pale lips in frustration. He was surprised when Sergei heard him over the scratch of chalk.

" ** _No_** Russian."

He rolled his eyes, " _Eto Ross_ \--"

"What did I just say?" The Colonel stopping writing, turning to face the young man, an amused smirk painted across his handsome, chiseled face.

Nicholai inhaled deeply through his nose, "This... is... Russia." He paced through the words slowly, a pressed adamance in his choppy voice, "I... We... speaking.. Russian."

Colonel Vladimir chuckled, "Yes, we **_speak_** Russian in Russia."

The 18-year-old cocked his head, eyebrows raised in derision, he unfolded his arms and pointed at the board, "So why I must...? Learning...?"

"It is good for your future." Sergei nodded, setting the book he had been holding down on the desk he was standing behind, "And the military demands it."

"I don't!" Nicholai asserted, shaking his head quickly to express his disapproval, "I no want."

The Colonel removed his well-decorated peaked cap with a sigh, setting it flat on the desk and rustling a hand through his long, silver-peppered brown hair, moving it out of his deep-set, blue eyes. The intricate gold-and-red Soviet crest above the brim glimmered in the harsh, fluorescent lights of the classroom. 

It was late. 

"Mr. Surkov said you had a take-home assignment?" Sergei suddenly remembered, "Let me see."

Nicholai crinkled his nose, dipping down to the brown leather satchel at his feet and unbuckling it noisily. He'd hoped he was off of the proverbial hook, avoiding Surkov for the night. The assignment, a handwritten, two-page paper on the 1917 revolution, was procured slowly, held up for retrieval with some degree of embarrassment crossing the young man's pale face. 

Sergei moved around the teacher's desk, walking to Nicholai was seated in the front row of those belonging to the students. He plucked the offered papers, inspecting them closely as he twirled the chalk he was still holding in his other hand. A smile was pulling at his lips as his eyes darted through the messy sentences. 

"At least it is all in English..." He murmured, his chuckle causing a pastel flush to blossom on Nicholai's pale cheeks. He wagged the chalk at the boy, "Stand and read what is on the board."

Nicholai struggled to get out from behind the tiny desk, wiggling his way to the right to free himself. His legs were shaky, knees slightly numb after having been cramped in the too-small space for too long. Adjusting his pale-olive felt uniform, he squints at the chalkboard where the Colonel has neatly written a few lines of English text, clearing his throat nervously. 

"Mister... President wears a black... suit. Before he was..." Nicholai paused, furrowing his brow, "E... elected? President, he spent some time in jail... When he speaks, people u-- un..." He looked at Sergei for assistance.

"Understand." The older man nodded.

"--people understand that the e-enemies of freedom are..." He cocked his head to the side in confusion, brushing his silver hair beneath his _pilotka_ cap quickly with a clammy palm. "F... _fooools_."

The Colonel couldn't suppress a giggle as Nicholai worked his way through the strange words. The young man shot him a venomous look before continuing. 

"And they... _understand_... that f-foreign t-troops will not kill freedom."

Nicholai almost panted when the final word escaped his mouth, exhausted at the intellectual exertion. He eyed the words he just read aloud, eyes squinting again as he failed to make sense of the lengthy strings of English characters despite having spoken through them, "What mean?"

Sergei glanced at the board, shrugging, "It was just in the book."

" _Glupyy kak yebat!_ "

He barely had time to process the warm hand closing around his wrist before he was yanked towards the older man with a yelp, the Colonel's incredible strength manipulating his much smaller body towards him with kid-like ease. Nicholai ended up falling into Sergei's body, which didn't budge a solitary inch on the impact. 

Sergei peered down his nose at the younger man, a devious grin pulling at his lips. His grip was still firmly on the boy's wrist, arm now tucked under his, though Nicholai was shorter, they were practically chest to chest. 

"I said **no Russian**..." The Colonel was practically whispering, words hissing through his teeth luridly as he watched a defiant flush cross the young soldier's cheeks, his _pilotka_ cap slightly tousled from the impact. 

Nicholai bit his bottom lip. A subtle breath through his nose took in the handsome, familiar scent of his superior's expensive cologne. 

Two weeks, and it had been too long already.

Calmly, he rested his chin on Sergei's chest, beaming fluttering blue eyes up at him with a kitten-like smirk.

The words which interrupted the heavy breath-filled silence dripped slowly from his lips. Calculated. Deliberate.

" _Zastav' menya_..."

He laughed in defiant delight when Sergei hauled him to the teacher's desk, using the arm he'd kept captured as leverage to pull him the short distance. 

"If you want to be a brat -- I will treat you as a brat." The Colonel asserted flatly, "Hands on the desk."

Nicholai complied immediately, pursing his lips in amusement, "We no _brat_."

Sergei stopped from where he was adjusting Nicholai's hips, pulling them out so the younger man was bending down slightly, " _Ny_ \-- no. Not **_brat_**.... English brat. A bad boy."

"Ah."

The groan that escaped his lips when the Colonel's hands moved to frantically begin undoing his belt was purely involuntary, as was the way he arched his back as he became undressed. Sergei knew the mechanics of his clothes better than he did, and the leather strap fell open at record speed. His felt uniform trousers and underwear were tugged down just as quickly, with a desperation that betrayed the Colonel's attempts at brevity and collectivity.

" _P-Polkovnik_..."

The Colonel's hand slipped into his short locks of silver hair, tugging at the strands with enough force to manipulate his head back, but not enough to cause him pain. 

"You will speak _English only_." Sergei hissed into his ear, reaching around the boy and grabbing a sheet of paper from the top of the desk, slamming it between where the younger man's hands were grabbing the edge of the wooden surface. He dropped his head forward harshly, "Read."

The words on the page meant nothing to Nicholai, Sergei's large, calloused hand running over his bottom delicately as he surveyed the foreign text with a mock expression which mimicked focus but masked hazy lust. The lesson plan the Colonel had grabbed, perhaps intentionally, was clearly from a much higher level than he had been graded at, and, coupled with the distracting touch, Nicholai fumbled through every word.

"The h-head of the Party p... pro... pro-mised that... after a short.... h-h... his... hist..."

_Fwap!_

Colonel Vladimir's hand made sudden contact with his rear, causing him to yelp in shock and pain. Nicholai gasped, back buckling at the stinging sensation that ran through his hips.

"Historical." Sergei offered smugly, resuming the soft, circular rub on the now-reddening skin. 

Nicholai continued, hiccuping through the next words slowly, "H-historical peri-od there would be... p... p-pro... pro-s... pros-per..."

_Fwap!_

"Prosperity."

The younger man stomped a boot against the floor, breath hitching. 

"Pros-perity... He said that the country c-could oc-occupy a.... le... lead-ing place in food... pro... pro-d.. duc..."

_Fwap!_

"Production. Food production."

Nicholai whimpered, upper body dropping slightly as he struggled through the new wave of stinging and tingling wracking his sensitive bottom. Sergei was doing his best to soothe the skin with his soft touches after every spank, but the red flesh was still screaming. The boy felt the familiar burn of arousal crawling through his belly, sinking down from his stomach and dropping into his pelvis. 

"-food pro-duc-tion and... in... food con-sum...ption..." He cocked his head at the words he'd never encountered before, barely having a moment to register he'd paused before the next slap made contact with his tenderised skin.

_Fwap!_

"Per capita."

"That... not... English?!" Nicholai snarled in disbelief, head cocking back in pain.

_Fwap!_

"Do not give me attitude." Sergei smirked, licking his lips as he took in the beet-red flesh between his fingers. "Read."

"H.. however, the pro-promised p... period has passed and not only has the food pro... produc.. production not been-- _ahhh_..."

The teen's body buckled, mind going completely blank, as he felt a warm hand wrap around his erection, squeezing tightly. The Colonel's hips were tightly pressed up against his pained bottom, the older man stroking him roughly with one hand as the other slipped its way beneath his uniform top. 

"I did not give you permission to stop reading, _Kolya_." He hissed, planting a curt kiss behind the boy's ear. 

Nicholai's eyes rolled down towards the paper, but he had completely forgotten where he'd left off. The English characters blended together, dancing along the page in squirming lines that jeered at him like clownish worms. 

"F... food... pr.. _ahh_..." He moaned deeply, belly full of flames that were licking up into his lungs, "L.. leader.. p.. p-party... _Bozhe moy_.."

The stroking became faster, rougher, the squeeze around his erection from the huge, strong hand gripping impossibly tighter.

"English only." Sergei's voice was so deep, his breath so hot, beating against Nicholai's ear causing the young man to release a desperate, whimpering moan.

His climax spilled onto the wood of the desk, pearly white ropes of cum contrasting perfectly against the dark surface. Nicholai hadn't known his eyes were closed until they fluttered open to the harsh fluorescent light of the classroom. 

"Mmm..." 

The Colonel had his face buried in the young man's neck, nose taking in the smell of his arousal like a vampire drinking blood from a virgin. His hand was still tightly gripped around the softening member, but tiny taps from the young man's hand were quickly pleading with him to release it.

" _Polkovnik_."

Sergei sighed, burying his face in deeper into the crook of the neck he was savouring so deeply, "We have been over this. English only." 

" _N... Nyet, Polkovnik_."

"Nicholai."

" _ **Polkovnik**_!"

The tapping intensified into a grip, Nicholai's delicate fingers grabbing at his hand desperately. The Colonel pulled away from Nicholai's neck, a snarl of annoyance coming across his face. His voice raised, he was prepared to launch into a short tirade against the young man for interrupting his pleasure.

" **Wh** \--"

The hot words were abruptly cut short when he caught sight of what Nicholai's eyes were firmly locked upon, and he rapidly released the younger man, letting him drop to the floor to pull up his pants.

Standing in the doorframe, a short, chubby, elderly cleaning woman whose eyes were burrowing holes into the two men. She cradled her mop close to her bosom, a tin bucket dangling out of the other, yellow-gloved hand. 

" _Ya khochu ubrat'sya_..." She muttered and held up her tin bucket, frown stretching the length of her wrinkled face.

" _D... da_..." The Colonel choked, watching as she hobbled into the room like a penguin and began tidying up the toys that the children had left on the floor, apparently having little concern for the sight she'd witnessed. 

Nicholai smirked at him, sticking out his tongue in a silent jeer.

"English only."

**Author's Note:**

> Translations, in order:
> 
> "Eto glupo/Это глупо." = This is stupid.
> 
> "Eto Ross-- (he was going to say "Eto Rossiya")/Это россия" = This is Russia.
> 
> "Glupyy kak yebat'!/Глупый как ебать!" = Stupid as fuck!
> 
> "Zastav' menya/Заставь меня." = Make me.
> 
> "Brat/брат" = Brother (lol)
> 
> "Polknovik" = Colonel 
> 
> "Bozhe moy/Боже мой" = Oh my God
> 
> "Ya khochu ubrat'sya/Я хочу убраться." = I want to clean up.
> 
> ~
> 
> Hope you enjoyed my first attempt at a non-angsty smutty fluffy fic!
> 
> What Nicholai reads on the board and on the desk is actually a thing I found from a Soviet-era English lesson plan lmfao it makes no sense at all. Some of the lessons were extremely cryptic and I have no idea what the heck they mean.
> 
> From the board:
> 
> From the desk:


End file.
